


Eleven-Nine

by cjbloomfield



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Case Fic, Episode: s11e09 Perverted, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Kinda, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Not A Fix-It, Secret Relationship, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjbloomfield/pseuds/cjbloomfield
Summary: DNA evidence points to Benson as the prime suspect when the sexually mutilated body of a member of a biker gang is found in the park; Barba and the rest of the squad fight to prove her innocence, even when evidence arises that is irrefutable.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 52





	Eleven-Nine

**Author's Note:**

> I started this one shot in July...I had more plans for this but let's be honest, in order for me to have lived up to those expectations it probably would've taken me an additional five months to build the motivation to fill in the scenic gaps. So please, for me, use all your bountiful SVU knowledge to fill in the plot holes.

**11.9 Perverted**

**November 9th, 2009**

“You or Liv ever question this guy on a rape or a domestic?” Detective Tutuola crouched down to the mutilated body fiddling through his belongings.

“Mm,” Stabler lowered himself to Fin’s eye level, scanning the corpse, “I don’t think so.”

“Then what’s he doing with Olivia’s card?” Fin pulls the small paper business card from the pocket of his soiled denim jeans.

* * *

“Rafa!” Olivia’s eyes roll to the back of her head, as she pulls at the unsettlingly well kept silky mane. He could feel her at the brink, the strength of the tightening grip she held onto his hair with, the low thrumming tremors building in her thighs securely wrapped around his neck, her staggered breathing— that she tried so desperately to hide, knowing very well what was coming next.

With his tongue lapping at her folds; dallying from suctioning them between his lips and teeth to a steady licking of her clit, his flat tongue against her most sensitive nub, he slows his ministrations ever so slightly so the final approach to the orgasm gradually claws away at her insides. The experience she should be used to by now, but she isn’t. She’d never get used to the dexterity he held with his mouth and tongue, oh the places and the heights he’s taken her without a single act of penetration—it—this never got old.

The hyper-pleasurable build-up to orgasm lingered longer than it ever had with any other partner, he’d made sure of that. Olivia was finally there at the precipice, dangling dangerously as the wildly-intense feeling bubbles in the depths of her lower belly— the very distinct feeling right before she snaps into a hot volcanic eruption overwhelms her. With a grunt of satisfaction she cums on his tongue as her hips reflexively jerk against the perfectly sculpted features of his face. Uncontrollable spasms rip through her body like bolts of electricity coursing down her spine. 

He holds her gallivanting hips down against the mattress, placing one final searing kiss onto her already sensitive bud. She squirms as he reluctantly extricates himself from her heat, trailing wet hot kisses in her erogenous zones.

“Hm, you sure you don’t want me to take a sick day?” His voice low and thick with lust, as he mutters against her warmed buzzing skin, his tongue swiping a taste of the thin layer of sweat forming on her inner thigh, before planting a kiss in his aftermath.

Unable to respond, she breathlessly tugs him up to her lips utilizing the death grip she has on his suspenders. Their lips lazily fought in a lethargic battle for dominance, his tongue overtaking hers as he trails the dark crevices of her mouth, leaving Olivia to suck her own taste off of his thickset tongue. His mouth tasted of arousal, mint, and fluoride.

“Shall I stay?” He mumbled against her jaw.

“No,” she all but moaned, she antipathetically pushed him off of her, where they were chest to chest, and now onto his feet. He was fully clothed—dressed to the nines, hair styled (even with her tirelessly pulling at his glossy locks, somehow still perfectly coiffed after her incessant fingers toyed with every strand, she didn’t even want to begin to think about the copious amounts of gel and hairspray he used to manage his mane), and ready for work; sans the jacket. “You have to get to work,” rolling her eyes as her phone buzzed against her big toe, where her satin panties and sweat pants laid pooled at her feet, phone tucked into the pocket of cotton bottoms. She was dressed from the waist up, in a gray hooded sweatshirt and a messy low ponytail, made even messier by the act they’d just finished.

“It’s almost as if you don’t want me around.” He pulled his resting jacket onto his firm broad shoulders, Olivia wanted nothing more than to peel him out of his suit, taking her time praising every curve and kink of his body before ravaging him to sleep—where maybe she’d finally rest off the rest of this bug wreaking havoc on her body. But alas, she knew she couldn’t give in, pulling her underwear and bottoms up to rest comfortably at her waist—truly signifying to Rafael, their sexcapades were over _for now._ “I know there’s no one else in town giving you orgasms as intense and intimate as that,” he half-joked, rolling her eyes as his mouth gravitated towards her.

“Rafa, you have to go!” She smirks as he nibbled on the skin behind her ear, she gently pushes him away once again, leading them out of the sexually heightened atmosphere of her bedroom.

“I don’t understand why you won’t let me stay and take care of you.” His hands rested on her hips, he began supporting her weight as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Because I don’t want to get you sick,” her congestion was thick in her tone.

“Liv, I’ve been here since Friday night, if I were meant to get sick, I’d be sick already.” She snuggled closer into him, breathing in his fresh pine and cedar scent. “After all the bodily fluids we just exchanged?” His intonation gravely reflected his dissection of the obscurity of her reasoning.

“You have work, Rafi. The city can’t afford for both of us to play hooky.”

“You can’t be playing hooky if you’re actually sick, Liv.” He pulled back, looking intensely into her eyes. “Let me take care of you?”

“Babe, no.” She shook her head resolutely. “It’ll be too obvious. I can handle my own.”

“Olivia.” He warned. “You can barely breathe.”

“I’ve never had anyone to take care of me when I was sick, I’ll survive this one too, unscathed.”

“Well, now you do.” He raised his eyebrows, searching for reassurance.

“I know, I know. Just not today?” Her chocolate brown orbs plead with his softening green embers in a manner in which he could never deny her.

“Is someone coming over to check on you?”

“Stabler—he has some case he wants me to look at.” She shrugged, nestling the soft skin of her cheek against the prickles of his stubble. She’d always sung her praise of his facial hair but after four days of ‘roughing it’ he always shaved it off.

“What doesn’t he get about sick days? Liv, do I have to remind you? _You can barely breathe_.”

“I know, but he says it’s important and will be quick.” Rafael rolled his eyes, Olivia smirked knowingly. Elliot didn’t like Barba; he thought the attorney was full of himself, with a big brass ego, but he has to admit the ADA was damn good at his job—Rafael couldn’t stand Stabler just as much; Stabler always believed he was right, quick to assume but slow to apologize—made him a great cop but a lousy human being.

Rafael had been working Manhattan SVU cases on and off, since May of 2008, ever since Novak was censured by the New York Bar. The unit ran through ADAs like Kleenex during flu season, it’d been hell to keep anyone on their retainer. Well, except for Rafael Barba, who’d been traveling, trying cases across the five Burroughs and Albany—he was a hot commodity in New York. Every District Attorney’s Office wanted him, but only Manhattan had been lucky enough to have an anchor—his Achilles’ heel—Olivia Benson.

What started as a few flirtatious after-work drinks quickly evolved into a secret love affair, now one year and six months later, their love blossomed into a full-fledged relationship—an undisclosed relationship. As long as Rafael wasn’t on the payroll for the Manhattan DA’s office for too long, they technically weren’t breaking any rules—that doesn’t mean they went around showing each other off.

“I’ll be back later tonight to make you my abuela’s sopa.” He kisses her nose, then tilted his head, arching his mouth against hers.

“Rafa,” she groaned running her fingers through his hair. He pulled away collecting himself and his bearings for work.

“You better rest while I’m at work or I’ll come straight back doesn’t matter what I’m doing.”

“I know, not even wild horses would keep you away.” She practically shoved him towards the door. “Hey! Take the damn brochures with you!” She made a drastic right turn into the kitchen.

“No! Not until you look through them and pick where we’re going for our anniversary.” He grumbled over his shoulder as he was already halfway out of the door. “Love you!”

“Love you too,” she mumbled to herself as he was probably already halfway down the elevator shaft by now, locking the door behind her boyfriend, Olivia took solace on the couch, her body aching, muscles tensing, temperature rising—a knock at the door has her regretfully on her feet.

“Hey,” she croaked, wiping her nose.

“You look terrible,” Stabler outwardly grimaced, as he stepped inside.

“Stop with the sweet talk,” she groaned taking the file out of his hands. “This the guy?” She flipped through the pages, flopping down onto her couch.

“Clyde Vandyne, our dead biker with the missing kickstand.” He took a seat next to her, leaving room in between them. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“No, it’s just a bug.” She waved him off.

“The swine flu is just a bug—recognize him?”

“No.” She shook her head, completely puzzled as to how her card ended up on this dead man she couldn’t even place. “Maybe he found my card on one of our victims and assumed that she talked he messed her up? —Even worse—and instead of coming to see us she got revenge?”

“Well, I’ll tell you what.” He scanned her once over, “I’ll figure it out. You rest.” His crystal blues softened at her hunger pang face. “You got anyone to take care of you?” She hesitated before the word vomit left her mouth.

“I’m fine.” She shrugged avoiding his eyes.

“Yeah, sure you are.” He placed the padded flesh of his palm on her forehead, “You’re burning up.” Stabler stood to his feet.

“101. Down from 102 last night.” She rose to her feet following him toward the kitchen. “I’m on the mend.” Slowly lowering her bended knee onto the stool at the island, half sitting half standing.

“I’m gonna make you some tea.” He signals over to the kettle.

“This happened outside of St. John’s?” Olivia ignored his last statement.

“Yeah, and we checked. To nobody’s great surprise, Clyde did not worship there.” He turned over, shuffling toward the refrigerator, “You have absolutely no food in this house.” He rolled his eyes in disgust, at the half-empty jar of pickles, and straggle containers with little to nothing in them.

“They invented this great thing, it’s called delivery.” She smirked over at him. He turned toward the cabinets above the stove, when three blue Brochures caught his attention. 

“Planning a tropical getaway?”

“A girl can dream, can’t she?” Her eyes glossed over for a mere moment as she imagined the warm sand underneath her olive-colored toes, the salty air wafting through her sunburnt locks, Rafael’s long slender digits wrapped so perfectly around hers, “Stop snooping.” She slid the file onto the island, as she readjusted herself on the seat, needing to get off of her feet before Rafael sensed her overexertion of energy, and turned his cab around. “I see Clyde was recently a guest of the state.” She read over his rap sheet, “He did a nickel at Attica for assault with a deadly weapon. Any chance it was over a woman?”

“It was a brawl at a bike expo.” He exited the kitchen, giving up on making her tea as she didn’t even have any of that lounging around her apartment. “Let’s get you into bed.” He shuffled toward her, helping her stand to her feet, “Come on.”

“You know, these bike gangs don’t play nice.” He took the blanket that was resting on her lap moments before and wrapped it around her shoulders to suppress the growing shivers in her body.

“I’m getting hazard pay coming to see you.” He leads her to her bedroom, “Fin’s on the clubhouse,” he reminded her as he tucked her in, snuggly.

* * *

“Highway Patrol responded to a 10-53 last night off of a 911 call.”

_“911 operator. What's your emergency?”_

_“I just witnessed a hit-and-run.”_

_“What's your location?”_

_“113th and Amsterdam.” A beat. “I think the guy is hurt. This crazy lady Rear-ended his motorcycle. She's a brunette. She's driving a black mustang.”_

_“Does anyone need medical assistance?”_

_“I’m getting The hell out of here, but I got part of her license plate number. H-W-C.”_

“Well, Starla’s a brunette.” Stabler raised an eyebrow trying to connect the dots.

“Well, they worked up a list of black mustangs matching the partial plate,” Cragen announced as the computer starts running the list of names.

“Captain,” Stabler pauses the automatic scroll, “Olivia Benson?” He exacerbates, his hand gripping Cragen’s. “That’s Liv’s car?”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

* * *

“Starla claims she’s never had any contact with you.” Cragen eyes his detective. Was Olivia Benson really capable of committing such a gruesome crime?

“Well, she’s not lied about that. I’ve never seen her before.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I wish I had.” She heaved a sigh, “So what happens to her now?”

“She goes to jail.” His expression is void and stoic.

“She’s a rape victim.”

“Well, Starla doesn’t think so. Do you know how much personal info she had access to in the clerks' office? And who knows how many other government agencies they slipped their women into?”

“Right...” She stifles a cough, her glance of disgust muffled by the physical greening of her face. “Women who have been broken down by rape and abuse. Women who are going to end up taking fall.” Olivia reminds Cragen of the insensitivity of his words.

“I put you in space 24-C right here.” The parking attendant smiled genuinely at Olivia, handing her the keys.

“Thank you,” she sighs, pulling the black tarp off of her resting baby.

“‘65, 289 convertible.” He couldn’t lie, he was impressed. “I didn’t know you owned a car.”

“I’ve lived in Manhattan my whole life. I never needed one, I must’ve hit some sort of midlife crisis two years ago.” She faked a smile, thinking of all the ways her heart had been shattered, soul stepped on, and dirtied up—starting with Alexandra Cabot; a woman she gave her heart to but couldn’t love Olivia the way she deserved to be loved; to the denial of her adoption candidacy; trickling all the way down to her sexual assault, the nightmares, the flashbacks, the waking up in cold sweats—the PTSD had been beating her ass before the therapy—before Barba. Rafael Barba and this car were the only good things to come out of this new millennia.

“What else you hit?” Cragen’s accusatory tone rose several octaves as she circled to the front of the driver's side.

“Oh, my God.” She gawked, her jaw-dropping. “Captain, I haven’t driven this car in a month.”

“Someone did.” Olivia racked her brain, had Rafa driven her car and she just forgot? He’d been the last to drive the car she knew that for a fact, but she was in the passenger seat the entire time.

“No.” She shook her head. “The parking attendants must have dinged it up.”

“That’s a pretty big coincidence, don’t you think?” Olivia leaned down to inspect the front end damage to her car. “Whoa, whoa, we have to get crime scene down here.” He grabbed her by the shoulder pulling her back. “And you understand, I have to notify IAB.”

“Captain, I didn’t do this.” His gaze was lingering, the parking lot filled with deafening silence—the blood rushed to her ears.

“I believe you.” He didn’t sound too convincing. “Liv, go home. Get over the flu. It’s best if you take a couple of days.” She handed him the keys. He watched her walk away, when she felt far enough out of earshot, she hit redial and pressed the cooling plastic to her ear.

“Rafa?” She asked as the dial tone stopped after the second ring.

“Hi, honey, what’s up? Feeling okay?”

“No—Rafa—“ she broke down into tears.

“Liv? Livy? What’s going on?”

“Please—please tell me you took my car out for a spin recently.”

“I haven’t driven your car since we took a drive down to Chelsea last month.” Her stifled sobs finally escaped her chest cavity.

“Olivia, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

“I—“ she began to gasp for air as she climbed into the elevator alone. “I’m being set up—they think I killed someone!”

“Wait, what?”

“They have a 911 call, someone sideswiped a biker off the road—the driver matched my description; white woman, brunette, in a black mustang with _my_ partial plates. The front driver's side of my car looks like someone took a tire iron to it. Rafa my card was shoved in his pocket.” She slid down the wall of the metal elevator, hugging her knees to her chest. “I was with you that entire night!”

“Okay, Liv. Listen to me. I need you to take a deep breath with me.” They inhale, she performs her deep breathing exercises just as they practiced in her moments of crippling anxiety.

“Rafa I can’t go back to jail not after—“

“You’re _not_ going back to jail.” He reassures her, “Not even over my dead body.”

“Rafa—I’m scared.” Her lower lip quivers.

“Call TARU, tell Morales to pull the security footage, clean it up, and have him prove you didn’t drive that car nor did it move.” She hiccuped her response, “Now, here’s the hard part. I need you to go upstairs and rest. Let the squad handle this.” She nodded wordlessly.

* * *

  
“What are you doing here? You’re sick.” Olivia froze dead in her tracks, the box of old case files perched on her hip, his voice she knew that voice anywhere, the restricted anger inkling as an undertone caused the box to slide—threatening to have the files scattered around the squad room. She never expected him to be here, they had no open cases for him at the moment—maybe that’s how he felt. His face was cool, he trained his features but his blazing green orbs darkened and if she hadn’t already known he loved her more than life itself—she’d be terrified by the look in his eyes. She tried to avoid his burning gaze; his eyes met hers in an unforgivable glare, ‘ _go home!’_ His face silently shook with anger. She gently rests the box at the corner of her desk.

“I’ve got bigger headaches.” She attempted a glare but her look immediately softened as she saw the worry etched into his face. “Any breaks in the Vandyne case?”

“Captain says, following procedure, we shouldn’t discuss it with you.” Munch raises his hands in defeat.

“Someone’s framing me.” She sniped, Rafael’s arm jerked through the air, aiming to reach for the small of her back as it usually calms her down—last second he changed his directory, his nimble fingers landing on the outskirts of her shoulder. “So fill me in on any details that don’t involve me.”

“Liv, can you take a seat?” Rafael asks so kindly, tears spring to her eyes. He’s always been so gentle and understanding of her—mindful and aware. She obliged him, wanting the undertones of green worry to sizzle out of his glistening eyes.

“CSU Expanded their sweep of the crime scene yesterday, and they found a bloody Bowie knife in the trash bin.”

“Any prints?” Olivia’s hopefully brightened two shades.

“No.” She physically deflated, her eyes dimming to a lamer more dull shade of brown than they were before. “But Siper found two blood types. And she’s running the DNA.” Munch added.

“Assuming the purp didn’t attack a second victim. It’s got to be his.” Fin offered short nods of reassurance.

“Or hers.” Olivia drops her head into her hands.

“Liv-“ Rafael drops to eye level on bended knee, his hand resting on the center of her back. “There are 25 other matches to the partial plate.”

“How many brunette females with front end damage to their car?” She exasperates.

“Someone could have taken a tire iron to your car in the garage.” Stabler’s reassurances didn’t make Olivia feel any better.

”There is no sign of debris.” Her words muffled into the sleeve of her shirt.

“No one’s thinking you did this.”

“Really?” Her head shot up for the first time, “You should have seen the looks I got coming in downstairs.”

“Don’t be paranoid.” Olivia glared, coming from John Munch, that was rich. “It’s not about the case. It’s about the contagious—you look...” He thought it best to keep his lips sealed shut.

“Did anyone trace the 911 call?” She stood to her feet a little wobbly, Barba gripped her hips, steadying her immediately. Stabler eyes this interaction, suspiciously. Olivia wasn’t reacting to a man’s arms around her hips—this was a bit too unsettling for Stabler to ignore it and throw caution to the wind.

“Yeah, to Khalil Asaad.” Fin chimes in. “We’re on our way to check it out right now.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Fin’s pertinacious tone fills her ears.

“Procedure.” Munch shrugged, grabbing the coat off of the back of his chair.

“And I’m the prime suspect.” She scoffed, pushing herself out of her seat as Munch and Fin cross the squad room, exiting through the opened double doors and onto the elevator.

“Where are _you_ going?” Stabler cleared his throat at an obviously weak and trembling Olivia.

“To clear my name!”

“Like hell you are,” Rafa’d finally had enough. “I’m taking you home so you can rest.” Olivia’s harsh exterior softened, as she acquiesced, her dull browns taking in the look of defeat. She didn’t have much fight left in her, especially not to argue with Rafael.

“Actually, why don’t you let me take her home,” Stabler suggested quite standoffishly.

“I think I got it.” Barba bit back, indignation soiled his tone. “How about you work your end of the case and find something—anything to clear your _partner’s_ name.”

* * *

“Detective Benson.” Olivia jumped up from her position on the couch, in which she’d dozed off, after sneaking back into the one-six without her boyfriend’s knowledge—she’d waited for a few, rested her aching muscles before compiling the files, her case notes, and the crime scene report, jimmying her way to the medical examiner’s office to ask a favor of Melinda Warner—a friend who’d tried to advise her against what would eventually become her gravest mistake.

“Lieutenant Tucker?” She sits up, straightening her back, throwing the blanket off her legs as the files resting in her lap clatter on the floor along with the thin NYPD-issued blanket. “It’s a little early for internal affairs, isn’t it?” She stands to her feet, out of respect.

“You know why I’m here?”

“Yes. It's about my car. I was not driving it at the time. It must have been one of the guys—“

“Detective Benson, before you say anything else, you need to know Clyde Vandyne's killer has been identified.”

“Who is it?” She exhaled a moment too soon.

“You.” Her eyes widened, as his fingers gripped the material of her navy blue cotton cardigan at her elbow. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—“

“—Ever hear of professional courtesy?” Cragen met them at the base of the staircase.

“You have the right to an attorney—“

“—You could have picked up a phone, arranged a surrender.” He trailed behind them hot on their tail.

“—If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you—“

“Don't say anything to the rat squad, Liv. I'm callin’ the D.A. For a lawyer.” Fin fingered the phone on his desk, nervously thumbing at the numbers in front of him.

“—Do you understand your rights?”

“Yes.” Olivia’s congested voice breaks through the tension of the squad room. She felt so light-headed and weak, she just wanted Rafael to hold her up, help her find the ground, remind her of her balance—but all she got instead was a pounding headache and a tightening grip on her elbow.

“Like the supreme court said, police officers are not relegated to a watered-down version of—“ Munch begins to spew his defense, as Tucker cuts him off, evidently ignoring each word out of the Sergeant’s mouth.

“Obviously, your detective is suspended.” He spits, carelessly dropping Benson’s gold shield in her captain’s less than receptive hand.

“You're taking her to central booking?” Cragen asks in disbelief.

“You know the drill.” Tucker rolls his eyes.

“Just wait.” Olivia’s throbbing headache makes it near impossible for her to follow the confusion of the conversation. “I've been locked up twice, undercover. This isn't right. I didn't do this. Just talk to me.” She pled through her hazy cloud of understanding.

“Are you waiving your rights?” Tucker clarified.

“She knows better than that. Don't say anything to anyone but your lawyer, Olivia.” Munch reminds her.

“Nothing against the fine people at the detectives union, but I suggest you get her a good criminal defense attorney,” Tucker suggests.

“Is there an interview room open?” The amount of testosterone condensed into one area had her head swimming and her heart yearning for her boyfriend.

“No.” Cragen stared daggers at her.

“I want to do this.” She reassured her captain, who wasn’t too sure she wasn’t gonna go down for this one.

“Tell me about Sunday night,” Tucker asked Olivia after they’d transition into interrogation 1. Olivia sat with shoulders tensed and her hunched over her folded arms, resting on the cool steel of the table.

“I was home, in bed, sick.” She offered plainly. She’d been with Barba the entire weekend. They slept together, ate together, showered together, even used the bathroom with the door open. They were so in love, they never spent any time apart when they could afford time together.

“Is there anybody who can corroborate that?”

“Y—“ She clears her throat. "No. I was alone.” Olivia had proof. Evidence of their relationship. Corroboration of her innocence. Rafael loved to sneak pictures of Olivia while she was asleep—he always said she never looked more beautiful than when she’s at peace. If there‘s one thing Olivia was when she slept wrapped up in the warmth of her lover’s arms—its equanimous, tranquil, idyllic—she reached nirvana.

She had carbon copies of those pictures he snuck of her—of them—authentic, time-stamped, and geotagged files sitting on her phone—the originals living in his.

But those pictures were for _her_ not for them. They didn’t get to parade those pictures around—use them to shame her for an ‘unethical’ relationship—shame her for the one thing that’s made her so indescribably and uncontainably happy, when everything else in her life was shit.

She’d be damned if they used those images to tarnish her clean jacket or pull her badge.

She’d find her way out of this mess and protect her source of happiness along the way.

“What is your probable cause for my arrest warrant?" Olivia leaned in closer.

“Let's hold your questions until the end." He rolled his eyes, what a cop, he thought. "You're single?" She eyed him suspiciously. "No boyfriend?"

“Are you interrogating me for murder or are you signing me up for a dating service?" She scoffed, on the brim of seething.

“I—I just find it odd that nobody stopped by to look in on you." She could've sworn she saw his eyes soften for a mere moment as he stammered in his words. "What was your relationship with Clyde Vandyne?"

“I have no history with the deceased."

“I read his sheet. Rough character. Not the type you'd want to run into in a dark alley.”

"Like the one where the motorcycle was found mangled."

“Tell me about that.” Tucker pressed.

“There's nothing to tell.” She offered plainly.

“What the hell's going on?” Barba charged through the doors, with Stabler directly behind him.

“I tried, but I couldn't stop her. She waived Miranda.” Cragen shrugged in defeat.

“Did you find something on my car?" Olivia pestered, knowing it would get under Tucker’s skin.

“No, get her out of there!” Barba’s voice was filled with panic but his face calm, cool, and collected. “Elliot, you're not supposed to be here.” Barba’s moments from becoming unhinged as Stabler bangs on the one-way mirror.

“Thanks, Barba.” He rolled his eyes. “Captain, this is the guy we're looking for. I just need to see if Liv recognizes him.” Barba snuck a look at the unrecognizable face of the alleged assailant—Olivia wouldn’t know who that was, but he couldn’t say that aloud.

With the slam of the heavy metal, Tucker captured their attention, “Is there a problem?”

“I need to talk to my partner.”

“As her commanding officer, you're allowed to observe. They are not.” Tucker stared blankly at the Captain.

“I don’t work for you and I’m not on this case, there’s no legal reason I can’t be here observing.” Tucker ground his teeth together at the smug attorney.

“I'll let you know when I'll be interviewing you." He points towards Stabler.

“Captain, just shut it down. She's not thinking straight. She's sick.” Stabler pled.

“You never interviewed a sick perp?” Tucker’s on the defensive.

“She's not a perp.”

“You know, where there's one dirty cop, usually the partner's dirty too. The only reason you're not in the hot seat is because I have nothing on you. _Yet_.”

“Let me talk to her for a minute.”

“I’m sorry. But if there's something you'd like me to relay, I’d be more than glad to.”

“No.” Stabler’s face is steely and unequivocally cool.

“Then I guess you'll be on your way.” Tucker turns entering the room once again. Rafael places his hand against the fogging glass, Olivia looks up, holding his gaze even though they both knew she couldn’t see him, she heard him with the swing of the door, and that alone brought her comfort. “Now, where were we?” Her eyes all but locked with Rafael’s through the one sided glass.

“You were trying to put me in an alley where I wasn’t.”

“Okay.” He pauses, towering over her as he still stood on his feet, standing directly in her line of sight, tearing her attention away from her only form of comfort. “Why did you see a psychiatrist last year?”

“Excuse me?” Her voice oozed anger and her face read of betrayal.

“Rumor has it, it was for post-traumatic stress.” She monitored her breathing.

“Wow." She exasperated. "Munch was right. Big brother really is watching.”

“I mean, you weren't shot in the line of duty or anything.”

“I got help for an issue that I was having.” She snapped, digging her nails into her palm, to reel herself in. “I didn't see a company shrink. Where did you get this information?"

"I was just outside with your partner. He told me all about it."

"You're lying.” She sat back, still indignant on the matter. “Surprisingly, you suck at it." Elliot didn't know, that she was sure of, because she never told him. " Who told you?" Just short of Rafael, Fin, and Huang no one knew. Not even her captain could say with 100% certainty, that she was in therapy.

"You deal with an awful lot of rapists on this job. Did one of them attack you? Overpower you?" She clenched her jaw, attempting to relax her shoulders. Her internal monologue was screaming but her outward appearance was a cocktail of pissed meets invasion of privacy.

"It has nothing to do with this case."

“It does if you had a flashback. People with PTSD get them all the time." He inches his hands closer to Olivia's interlocked fingers. “War Vet comes home, he hears a car backfire, he loses it. Is that what happened to you?”

"Absolutely not." She swallowed thickly.

“Clyde attacked you in the alley, and it triggered a flashback.”

“You're wrong.” Her eyes glossed over.

"You were right back in that position of complete helplessness. He had his hands all over you, he was taking your clothes off." She bit down on her tongue, refusing to admit to an assault completely unrelated to the situation.

"No." She spits.

“He was gonna violate you again, and you couldn't let it happen." She staves off a burning flashback brewing in the crevices of her mind.

“I never let that happen. Now stop playing games and tell me what you think you have on me."

“Your DNA was a positive match to the blood on the knife.”

"There are no cuts on me.” She impatiently rolled the sleeves of her cardigan up her arm. “Where did the blood come from?" She stretched the neck of her soft cotton shirt with all the aggression she could muster up in her exhausted state.

"You had a bloody nose during the struggle. They'll document all wounds during your strip search at intake."

“I made a mistake.” She whispered.

“Then you need to make it right.” Tucker’s tight facial expression falters for just a moment.

"I mean, talking to you. I want a lawyer."

* * *

Olivia sat in the dingy low lit hallway with her wrist cuffed to the metal pipe behind her.

“Olivia, what the hell are you doing here?” Rafael plopped down beside her.

“How’d you get down here to see me?” She wanted to kiss him. To be held by him. To hold onto him so tightly and never let go. She was beyond scared.

“They just assumed I was your lawyer, I didn’t correct them.” He shrugged taking her quivering hand into his own.

“Raf—what if someone sees,” he leaned down pressing kisses against the red skin of her wrist. More than anything, she was afraid to lose him.

“Then, let them see.” He squinted his eyes at her. “You didn’t do this!”

“I know that I couldn’t have done this. You know I couldn’t have done this. I was with you the _entire_ weekend, but they don’t know that.” She shook her head.

“Olivia don’t be foolish. Tell them you were with me.” He intertwined their fingers, “You have an alibi. Is this the flu ravaging your brain?”

“Tell them that we’ve been together for over a year now? Then what? I lose my job and you lose your license to practice law in New York?”

“I don’t care about that, Olivia! What I care about is that you’re safe.” He stood, eyeing her in disbelief.

“Rafa, if I didn’t do this—someone else did. I trust my squad to find that person, and not have to risk either of our jobs.”

“Olivia, they found your DNA, or did you forget that part? This is clearly a setup job. Someone put it all on the line to make sure this sticks.” He ran his fingers through his perfectly coiffed hair, “I’m gonna go blow up my life to make sure you don’t ruin yours.” He turned his back, his firm steps clattering with the ground.

“Rafa!” She called after him, his strut never faltering. “Rafa! Where are you going?”

“To turn myself in and get you the hell out of here.” Olivia cursed under her breath as his footsteps became silent, he disappeared down the hall. She pressed the back of her head against the cooling steel of the pipe, her brain thrumming against her skull.

The silence lulled her away and just for a moment her overwhelmed cerebrum—pounding against its casing, took a moment to relax. She didn’t feel the swell of throbbing tissue pushing up against her cranium; all she felt was the coldness of the air around her—remedying her rising temperature, the ribbed pattern of the metal wall she reluctantly pressed her cheek into, the rough unfinished texture of the concrete bench beneath her pancaked denim-covered thighs. This almost felt like calm.

The calm before the storm.

“I always thought it’d be your partner I’d find here one day.” Olivia’s body jolted, completely shaking the serene state she’d encompassed for the past five minutes—pounding skull, burning flesh, anxiety, and bile all begin to rise.

“Keep walking, Langan. Wouldn’t want to keep one of your skel clients waiting.” Her body tenses then begin to relax at the familiar face.

“That skel client would be you.” Trevor takes a seat right next to her, their knees touching.

“Uh, my DEA Rep is on her way now.”

“I don’t think you appreciate the seriousness of the charges against you.” He tilts his head in bemusement.

“Even if I wanted your representation, trust me, I can’t afford it.”

“My retainer has already been paid.”

“By who?” Olivia ground her teeth together, squinting her eyes at Langan. Rafael had better not waste his money on this sad overpriced sack in an Armani suit.

“Concerned friends.” His eyes were suggestive but not nearly enough for her to read him. “Nice you’re getting preferential treatment. They let you stay out here instead of throwing you in the bullpen with the crack whores and Schizos.” He swallowed the ever-growing smirk on his face.

“Yeah, I’m getting breaks all over the place.” She raised her wrist only for it to be restricted by the restraints.

“It won’t be your buddy Cabot or Barba throwing us softballs in court. Public integrity handles all criminal misconduct by cops.”

“You’re assuming that I’m guilty.”

“Of course not.” He barely closes his eyes when he blinks, Olivia has to suffocate the scoff brewing in her throat. “But we’ll go over alternative theories of the crime later.”

“This won’t be your usual smoke and mirrors. This’ll be the truth.”

“We only have a few minutes here. This is normally where I just introduce myself, explain how arraignment works—“

“Yes. I know what happens next.” She’s close to smashing her head into the brick wall.

* * *

“Docket ending 6-0-4-1, People V. Olivia Benson. The charge is murder in the second degree.”

”Sorry to see you here under the circumstances, detective.” Olivia’s stance is rigid—her arms are folded crossed her chest, her lips sealed in a tight line, her chest heaving as she tries to stave off an impending anxiety attack—she nods her head solemnly, the look of genuine fear and visceral annoyance washes over her. “How do you plead?”

“Not guilty—“  
“—Guilty!” The burly and grotesque, thickly bearded and heavily muscled death knight—who was a mere three steps behind Olivia, barked after her.

“Remove whoever shouted that! Anybody else disrupting my court will be held in contempt, Capiche?” He eyed the courtroom, blisteringly. “I’ll hear the people on bail.”

“Given the heinous nature of this crime, the people request the defendant be remanded pending trial, your honor.”

“R.O.R. Would be more appropriate. My client is a decorated officer of the law with significant ties to the community.”

“She has no family whatsoever and should be considered a flight risk.” Olivia winced, she scanned the courtroom—her eyes landing on Rafael seated in the left corner, with his eyes glued on her.

“Her family is 40,000 strong. Brothers and sisters in blue who stand behind her as she clears her name of these spurious charges.” Her attention is quickly diverted back to the front, the judge’s eyes bounce from Langan to the dark-skinned prosecutor.

“There’s nothing spurious about positive DNA identification.” He rolls his eyes.

“Let’s not jump ahead to matters of trial.” He subtly glares at the prosecutor. “Bond is set at $250,000 cash or bond. Until such time as bail is posted, defendant is held over for trial.” With the firm bang of his gavel, he shoots Olivia an apologetic glance as her eyes narrow in panic. She cranes her neck, communicating with Rafael through their eyes as the court officer cuffs her.

_‘Rafa, I’m scared.’_

_‘Liv, I’ll get you out of there.’_

“We have friends at Rikers. I’ll make sure they stop by and say hello.” The same gang member leaned over and whispered to Olivia as she was shown the way out.

* * *

“Rafael, what’d you do?” Her hand instantly found its way to the small of his back, his actions mirroring hers perfectly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let you get Shivved at Rikers?” She grabbed the yellow envelope pulling documents out to scan momentarily.

“There are worse fates.” She leaned over the desk to sign for her release and her personals. “Does your mother know you mortgaged her house for me?”

“Who do you think gave me the Deed?” He smiled at her, tears willfully searing behind her lids, she had to look away. She didn’t understand how he could love her so thoroughly. “Well, it’s not at risk. You’re innocent.”

“Better hope I don’t skip bail and run off to Indonesia.”

“I see you’ve been looking through the stack of brochures.” He smirked over at her as he removed his own jacket to place over her shoulders before they stepped out into the blistering chilled New York air.“So, Bali it is?”

“Are you asking me if I want to jump bail and run away with you to one of the most romantic destinations in the world?” She leaned into him, not caring who sees. She needed his comfort, his warmth, to feel his love. “If your mother’s home wasn’t on the line we would’ve been halfway to the airport already.”

“She had me chipped as a child, no matter where we go, she’ll find me.” The delicate curve of his lips has her heart stutter, the glint of humor shining in his gleaming greens sends a rush of oozy warm vibrations—consuming her from head to toe. He could make any situation brighter—he could make her feel better through whatever. They were no closer to cracking the case—but right now, right here with Rafael Barba, she felt okay. His hands-on her waist steadied her, as he led them to his car.

* * *

Stabler approached the bonds agent, with the deed of his two-story, 4 bedroom, 3.5 bathroom Queens home in hand, handing over the documents, the agent verified them before sending him in to see the bondsmen. His hands were fidgety he looked diffident—Kathy didn’t know, he was acting and reacting without much before or an afterthought—he was flying by the seat of his pants.

“Benson, Olivia Benson.” Stabler’s fidgeting, intensified. “Docket ending 6-0-4-1, the charge is murder in the second degree.”

“I don’t have a Benson.” His eyes trailed from the computer screen to the grimacing Detective hovering above him.

“What? There’s no way. She was arraigned not even an hour ago.”

“Look, maybe she has bonded out already.”

“She has no parents, no siblings worth anything, no other friends, family, or significant other to bail her out. That’s why _I’m_ here putting up _my_ home that my _wife_ and _five_ children dwell.”

“Dude, there are simpler ways to get her to fuc—“

“—don’t finish that statement.” He flashes his badge, “isn’t there a software you all use to track who has been bonded out and how?” He waves his wrist at the computer in front of him. The bondsmen sigh, woefully.

“Benson comma O was bonded out by a...” He squints his eyes, using his finger to trace the path from one end of the monitor to the other, “Barba comma R, twenty-four minutes ago.”

“Excuse me—what?” Stabler walked around the desk, unable to believe his own ears. He needed to see for himself.

“It’s right here, a Bronx Enclave belonging to a Lucia Barba.”

“Tha—thank you.” Stabler aimlessly exited the office.

Olivia and Barba? What the hell is that about? They were friends outside of the office— were they close enough for him to put his mother’s house up for her freedom? Had he missed something? Something so grandiose and salient in his partner’s life?

All the warning signs aligned. The red flags were there and jostling in the wind. Somehow this very moment, a stranger handed him the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle. It almost felt like different parts of the same math equation, finding their way onto the center of the page, and with the flash of a single LED lightbulb, it all makes sense.

First, she defended him in the squad room, at the courthouse, and even some nights when the squad would meet after long days or intense cases and trials to decompress from all the stress that entails— that usually encompassed a couple of rounds of bag on the ADA. These days, they found that Olivia didn’t tag along in verbally destroying Barba—hell any lawyer, much less—she’d actually picked up the position of devil's advocate and would often defend and vouch for them.

Second, Stabler couldn’t wrap his mind around the touching. Earlier today, when Olivia stood to her feet at her desk and suffered an episode of vertigo. Rafael placed his hands on her hips as if it was instinctive—primitive. Olivia hadn’t even flinched. She didn’t bat an eyelash nor did she blink. She didn’t tell him to stop or try to remove herself from his grasp. If anything she molded herself into his embrace. Come to think of it, she acquiesced to his demands earlier, she didn’t put up a single protest. Not even a, ‘I am not your property or your child you do not tell me what to do.’

Was this the icing on the cake? Barba risked his mother’s livelihood for Olivia? A coworker? Did Barba have feelings for Olivia? Well, that one may be obvious. Did Olivia have _any_ feelings for Barba, at all? He would know if she did—right? There was no way a woman like Olivia—smart, beautiful, empathetic, independent, and a powerhouse of a woman would go for a man like Barba—cold, arrogant, entitled, not even that handsome of a person inside or out to be able to pull Olivia Benson, smug son of a bitch. He refused to believe it—there wasn’t enough circumstantial evidence in the world that would force him to believe such farce.

* * *

The Detectives chased lead after lead coming up short and seemingly at least four steps behind the biker gang. Their frustrations grew, they knew Olivia hadn’t done this but had no way to prove it. Warner decoded the falsified DNA planted on the Bowie knife used to set Olivia up. And now it was up to Fin, Stabler, and Munch to track down its source and figure out—the who, what, where, since they already know the how, but the most important component is the why.

Why Olivia?

What could she have done to deserve revenge this severely?

Who? Who was the culprit? Out of the 12 years, she’d been at SVU, she’d pissed off her fair share of perps and suspects.

* * *

“I see him right in front of my building.” She jostled the blinds, pulling two apart to peek out the window. “C’mon, Rafa, I don’t need a baby sitter.”

“You do until they find Harrison— and before you start, yes I know you’re fully capable of looking out for yourself but you’re sick and it seems you keep forgetting that.” Her smile beams from ear to ear as she makes her way back over to the couch, wrapping herself in a bundle of blankets she’d left there to fight off her chills. “Olivia Benson is a completely independent woman who can take care of herself. _And_. The woman I love deserves the best and will be taken care of until my last breath. Are two statements that can coexist.”

“Why don’t you come down here to babysit and take care of me then?” Her tone is ripe, full of suggestion, but garnished with congestion.

“I think it was my _taking care of you_ that got you to this point of sick.” He chuckles, “Bed rest and plenty of fluids from here on out missy.”

“I’ve suddenly made a miraculous recovery, now come take care of me.”

“You’re ravenous when you’re sick.”

“For you.” His breath caught in his throat, the low growl laced into her tone, he felt his pants tighten. “Rafa, come home.” She practically begged.

“You only want me home so I don’t tell Tucker your alibi.”

“I’m feeling feral...and I’m craving you as a fix.”

“Liv,” he groaned. “I will be home as soon as this is dealt with, I promise.”

 _Home_.

The term carried weight. It wasn’t meant in the way that suggested the couple lived together because technically they didn’t. Home for them was the other half of the partnership.

 _‘Coming home’_ simply meant returning to each other. So they could be together again. And that carried weight.

“I guess I’ll just handle myself.” She sighed.

“Titillation a new symptom of the flu?”

“Just hurry home.”

“I love you, Liv.”

“I love you too, Rafa.” The line clicked and silence filled his ears.

Rafael had marched directly down to One Police Plaza from Olivia’s apartment, he’d been cooped up in the waiting room for the past two hours, impatiently pacing a new pattern in their unflattering flooring. He’d wanted to talk to the commissioner, the Chief of D’s, Tucker—hell he’d talk to _anyone_ that would listen—but apparently, dealing with the fall out of having a ‘rouge killer cop’ with PTSD to boot on the loose was a bigger issue to clean up then actually investigating the alleged crime, as he could get virtually no one to see him.

“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” Rafael muttered out into the open space of the waiting room. He refused to let his girlfriend become a martyr. If he had to exonerate her and lose his job in the process—that’s a risk he was willing to take.

“Possible 10-13, near Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reserve, between 79th and 97th street. Possible 10-13, 10-13! I repeat Possible 10-13!” Rafael’s face visibly paled.

“That’s Olivia’s neighborhood!” He shoved his phone in his pocket, grabbing his briefcase off the seat behind him, and b-lined for the staircase—taking them three at a time.

* * *

Olivia nodded down at the crossword puzzle in her lap covering the case files she’d promised her boyfriend she’d take a break from— nearly dozing off at the mundanity of her circumstance, suddenly there came a powerful rapping against the hollowed-out wood of her front door. “Callahan, you have a bladder the size of a pea.” She moves the papers from her lap, uncocooning her upper body from the woolen blanket, regretfully shifting her aching muscles, bounding toward the door. “How many bathroom breaks does this make?” She jokes through the sharp pains thrumming around her cranium.“Callahan?” The phone blares, forcing a halt in her movement. “Hold on, one second,” she calls to the other side of the door, turning on her heels. A loud bang sounds, causing Olivia’s head to whip toward the door, before she can think on her feet to run, Brady Harrison bulldozed his way through the door, several large wood fragments lay plainly at her feet.

“If it's for me, I’m not here,” Brady eyes Olivia, fury, and wrath consume his gaze, leaving room for nothing else. “Come on!” He takes off after the ailing detective, “Olivia! Olivia, we need to talk.” Running into the nearest open room, “We need to talk!” Olivia shoves the door pushing with all her might, applying her full body weight against the white wood but her failing health and drastically decreasing energy is no match for the seven years of bodybuilding he’d done while in prison. “We need to talk! Open the door!”

“Help!” Olivia’s quivering voice bellows, reeking of desperation.

“Open the door!” Bullying down the door with his shoulder, Olivia gives in, hurtling herself away from the entryway, the force overpowers him, Brady goes barreling to the floor.

“Aah!” Olivia wails, reaching for the lamp on the dresser as Brady picks himself off of the floor, aiming at his head she moues.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He smirks. “We aren't very evenly matched, are we?” There’s a smug air to him, one that’s not even remotely similar to the shit-eating attitude she’d grown accustomed to.

“Is that the taser you used on Clyde?” The tremble in her voice is hidden behind her instinctive need to survive.

“I thought you'd go for your gun—oh, oh, oh. Oh, that's right. They take those away when you're facing trial for murder.” He waves the taser around, inching closer to a practically defenseless Olivia, high on epinephrine and nothing else—as the day had taken its toll on her, she’d been moments away from passing out while waiting for her love to return home to make her soup—she quite literally only had water and adrenaline keeping her upright as nothing passed through her lips in the build of her catatonic day.

“There’s a cop downstairs right now, watching this building.” He cackles.

“Not anymore.” The blaring from her cellphone begins, it rests on the dresser between them, her eyes glance down momentarily catching Rafael’s face. “No, no.” The ringing continues as he slides the phone into his pocket, lifting the side of his shirt, flashing the weapon tucked into his side. Her face whitens. “We only have a few minutes. You better ask your questions now.” Olivia is out of breath and panting, shooting a small prayer to the heavens for answers. Her mind wanders briefly, wracking through millions of insignificant things she’d wanted to know before death claimed her.

Was she ever going to see Rafael again? If she made it out of the apartment alive, would they ever find out the truth? Who’d actually killed Clyde? But most importantly...

“Why did you set me up?”

“Why did you have Clyde terrorize me in prison!?” His anger is volatile and reactive, wielding the taser closer and closer to a terrified Olivia.

“I didn't even know Clyde! You think I arranged some jailhouse brawl?” She pled, the candor evident in her tone.

“You know what I’m talking about!” His reddened face and strained eyes told a story Olivia didn’t need further investigation to conclude.

“Oh, my god. He raped you.” Olivia’s shock is etched into every nuance of her face. Exhaling sharply, Brady carried on.

“He brutalized me. He told everyone that I was a punk. There for anyone to sodomize, to trade as a sex slave.” He mewls.

“Why didn't you report it?” Her heart twinged.

“Like the guards didn't know? Like—like you didn't know!?”

“I didn't know!” Olivia was frank and sincere, but Brady wanted nothing she was offering—her apologies and sympathy couldn’t undo the years of trauma bestowed upon him inside those prison walls.

“You couldn't stand that I had no remorse for what I did to those women, so—so you set me up!” His rage flared sharply turning into irrationality.

“Who told you that?”

“You did! Don't you remember? _A pretty boy like you is gonna be real popular in prison. Maybe when you're raped, you'll understand what you put those women through_." His mockery of her statement told her how long he’d been holding onto those words, engraving it into his mind until he could _finally_ exact his revenge on the sole woman to blame.

“I never should have said that.” Olivia offers her regret. “Even to scare you, I never should have said that. But I swear to god, I did not arrange for you to be raped. I'm so sorry.” Her apology falls on nearly deaf ears.

“Oh. Oh, you're sorry. Well, I’m not sorry that I set you up for Clyde's murder. DNA still trumps this hearsay confession.” Brady felt proud of himself, as if he’d finally done something right, they couldn’t take him down for this one.

“Where did you get my blood?” Olivia pressed further, she noted he was quickly unraveling, but she needed to know.

“That one, I’m talking to the grave.” Brady unmasks the gun tucked securely in the crevice of his jeans where his flesh meets the cold steel. Pressing the chilling metal to his clammy skin—

“Don’t!” Olivia leaps into action, knocking the gun out of his hand with the lamp tightly clenched between her shaking fingers, the weapon clatters to the floor.

“Bitch!” He grunts as she propels herself into him, forcing his backside into the dresser, grunting with upheaval, “Bitch!” He pushes her back in a race for the gun, “Bitch.” He mutters as she kicks the gun out of his reach. Olivia wraps herself around Brady to subdue him before she presses the taser into his back. His groaning is so loud as he collapses on top of her, she can hear little else.

“Liv!” Rafael calls, but she is unresponsive at the moment. “Olivia?” The panic rises in his throat, the familiar taste of bile and regret plié across his tongue. He made it into the room in three quick strides, dropping to his knees he rolls the large 6’1 fellow off of his girlfriend. She gasps for air, as Brady’s body crushed her under all the dead weight. “Mi amor, are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I think I’m finally getting over this damn flu.” She sneered “Aren’t you glad, I stayed home and listened to you?” Barba flashed his trademarked eye roll, pulling her forehead to his lips as Stabler and back up came crashing into the room. She stilled in his arms as if the reality of the situation just set in.

“Olivia?” Guns were drawn and tensions heightened. Stabler scanned the room, eyes quickly landing on the canoodling _supposed_ couple a mere few inches away from an unconscious murderer. “Barba, get off of her!” Stabler ordered, peeling Harrison off the ground to cuff him. “What are you even doing here? You’re disturbing a crime scene!” Rafael bit his tongue, not moving a single millimeter. Olivia felt the tensions brewing in his muscles. The officers lugged a groggy Brady out of the room as they Mirandized him.

“Stabler.” Barba bit, “Now is not the time.”

“Time for what?” Stabler stands a good three or four inches taller than Barba, with his muscles flexed and chest puffed out.

“There isn’t enough time in the world to deal with your overinflated mighty macho man ego. There are bigger fish to fry. Your _partner_ is traumatized. So if you don’t mind, I’ll be consoling my disoriented and distressed gi—“ Barba stops himself just in time.

“I guess you don’t know your place. You’re an _ADA_. Not a friend. Not a pal. Sure as hell, not a significant enough role in Olivia’s life to play savior!” Barba was seething. He looked back at a shell shocked Olivia, realizing this argument was doing no justice in calming the raging tides of anxiety drowning her from the inside out.

“Stabler, I suggest you go back to the precinct and fill out those DD5s. There’s no business for you here.” Barba sharply turned on his heels swallowing every steely hate-filled remark bubbling in his chest cavity.

“Rafa?” Olivia blinked. “I thought I was never going to see you again,” her cool exterior broke, the tears came stampeding down her face like water dashing over the edge of a cliff.

“I’m here, my love. Never going anywhere.” He littered her face with kisses, subconsciously her sobs began to subside. The realization washed over Stabler like an unsuspecting sandcastle abandoned on the shore at high tide during a full moon.

“Oh—I—“ tongue-tied and unaware. “Barba, I didn’t know—“

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Barba replies as cooly as his temperament allows.

“I...?”

“Go.” Rafael clears his throat. “You should go.”

“I—“ suddenly his tongue felt thick and dry in his mouth, unable to find a single word to utter an apology, he turns and leaves the ransacked apartment.

“It’ll be alright, I promise. Do you trust me?” Olivia curled herself into his body mumbling reassurances into his chest. “Come on, let’s pack your stuff. You’re staying with me.” He buries his nose into her sweet-smelling hair.

“For how long?” She mumbles into the curve of his neck.

“We might as well start talking about forever, now.”


End file.
